


home is where love is

by lexicalbehemoth (lyricalleviathan)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, M/M, One Shot, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 03:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalleviathan/pseuds/lexicalbehemoth
Summary: After the Armageddon-That-Wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley have a talk about the future, and Aziraphale confesses to some truths.





	home is where love is

Aziraphale, for all that he never fails to remind that he’s of angel stock, knows Heaven isn’t where home is. This is, of course, after spending a couple millennia with humanity; it’s inevitable, isn’t it, to change? Perhaps it’s true that he’s gone native, even though it was something that had been said to him while in Crowley’s form. Perhaps he’s changed for the better (or the worst, depending on who’s asking), though it doesn’t change what he is at his core. He’s still an angel, wings and grace and all, even though his superiors are unsure after his little (or as much as one can call deceiving his superiors and letting a demon into Heaven  _ little _ ) stunt.

But one gets an inkling, after a while, when one is with humanity often. When one grows to watch over them, to be with them, to try and be like them- one learns that the world and all Her creations are not so black and white as Heaven and Hell make it out to be. Home, for one, no longer means his place of origin.

Home is where he feels safest, if he abides by humanity’s varied definitions of home. Home is walking through St. James’ Park and finding his counterpart waiting for him, a story or two in mind to share of the latest thing humanity has done, be they foolish or remarkable. Home is letting Crowley tempt him to a spot of lunch down at the Ritz, miracling up a reservation for two because it’s his turn for a treat. It’s only fair, after all, as Crowley is often the one to do the treating- which is, in truth, something of his own influence.

Crowley does so like to say that he’s the one doing the tempting around his angel, but Aziraphale knows better.

(He wonders if Crowley knows it, and just lets him get away with it?)

“Did it give any other hints before the final prophecy, that book?”

Aziraphale blinks purposefully- it’s not as though he actually needs to blink, despite the human appearance of his form. He clarifies, “The Nice and Accurate-”

Crowley waves a hand. A server comes as though summoned, swiftly filling up his then-empty wine glass. “Yes, that. Or was it up until the Armageddon’t? Don’t suppose there was a sequel for that?”

He smiles in amusement, patting at his mouth with his napkin. It’s been a bit of a thing with him, lately, coming up with names for the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. He answers, “If there were, I wouldn’t know. The only one mentioned in existence was The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, and even then, it was difficult to find; it’s no wonder we only came across it because of her descendant. Were you thinking that there would be something there, for the events after the Armageddon-that-wasn’t?”

Crowley hums that little unsure hum he does whenever he wants to say something, but is finding it difficult to do so. “Maybe. Wouldn’t put it past her, seeing as she was able to prophesize that last bit we did.”

“Perhaps it was more a hint, my dear? There being free will and all.”

Crowley perks up at his words mid-drink from his glass, a pleased smile growing on his face as he sets his wine aside. Aziraphale supposes it’s a testament to all their time spent together that he’s able to categorize this look, as it were, among Crowley’s other expressions- and even call it a smile, having realized that it’s the closest approximate term versus a smirk. Crowley says, sounding both unreasonably proud and sarcastic, “Why angel, are you implying that even occult and ethereal beings could have their free will to take action, without it being detailed by The Great Plan?”

Aziraphale lets the server that passes their table fill up his wine glass once more, giving him a smile of thanks. Then he takes a drink, deliberately letting Crowley wait, before putting down his glass and saying, “Well, it’s not that much of an impossibility, is it? I’m here with you, after all.”

Crowley hums, not saying anything more.

“An angel and a demon eating together, regarding each other as best friends,” Aziraphale goes on, smiling pleasantly despite the tiny, disgruntled noise Crowley makes for a flash of a second. “I wouldn’t think it was in the regulations for either of our previous sides to befriend someone from the other side.”

“Previous, huh,” Crowley says, swirling his wine a little, looking away from him. “I’d have believed myself saying that, but I didn’t think we’d reach a point where you’d agree. You’re particularly stubborn, for an angel. Or should I say,” he turns to Aziraphale, smirking, “as expected of an angel?”

“Well, it’s true that this is our side, isn’t it? Earth and its creatures,” Aziraphale replies, before taking a slow drink from his own glass of wine. “You and I, together. The End That Wasn’t certainly proved its point about the demarcations going beyond my side and yours.”

Crowley gives him a Look. Aziraphale doesn’t have to see behind his sunglasses to know, because the mere turn of Crowley’s head, the way he tilts his chin to him, is familiar enough. Crowley says, “I’m surprised it only took you six millennia to reach that conclusion.”

Aziraphale huffs at the teasing. “Really now, my dear…”

Crowley chuckles, shaking his head. He finishes off his glass of wine, before saying, “I’ve been telling you that since before the End Times That Weren’t, angel. I’ve been giving you question upon question on that blasted Ineffable plan, and neither of us have ever reached any absolute answers- even your answers to me were vague and half-baked at best.  _ Don’t _ even try denying it.”

“I,” he begins, intending to argue, before sighing and shaking his head. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

Crowley tips his glass to him, before taking another drink. Once done, he says, “What now, then? Any plans for the unknown future?”

He hums, pressing his lips together in thought, as he’s sure he often does. Crowley would probably know- he sees Aziraphale’s face more often than Aziraphale sees his own. He answers, “Not entirely sure, really. I suppose we’ll just have to see what the future holds for us.”

Crowley looks away from him, face turned to his empty glass of wine. Likely, he’s thinking it’ll hide the growing smile on his face when he’s not looking towards Aziraphale, but it doesn’t, not really. Aziraphale, for all that he knows he comes off oblivious to Crowley with certain matters, is a bit more observant than Crowley likely thinks him to be. It’s just easiest, is all, to play at a certain kind of ignorance when it benefits him.

He’s said he’s soft, but Crowley?

Crowley is even softer, though he manages to pass as tough to anyone else who doesn’t know him well.

Innocently, Aziraphale says, “That is fine, isn’t it?”

“What’s fine?”

“I assumed we’d be doing less of that thing we do, where we coincidentally meet in places,” Aziraphale explains, setting aside his own empty glass of wine. “And, instead, meet up because we can. With Heaven and Hell letting us off for now, as it were, I feel we can afford to chat without the ruse of being adversaries, thwarting each other for the end times at hand…or not in hand, as it so happens.”

Aziraphale has a feeling Crowley is blinking at him behind his sunglasses, and he smiles.

“I…huh?”

“We could have that picnic,” he offers, reminded of his promises from before everything, before the Not-A-pocalypse, and before the dinners at the Ritz. “We’ve already dined at the Ritz a number of times, haven’t we? But I don’t recall us having done that picnic…though I suppose that may be because it’s easiest to just let other people prepare our food for us. Do you suppose it’s proper to buy food from restaurants and take them out for a picnic instead of dining the usual way? One usually expects to prepare one’s own food for this, if I recall correctly…”

“Wait, wait,” Crowley says, waving a hand as though telling him to pause, which he does. “Wait, angel. A picnic?”

Aziraphale smiles brightly at him. “Why, yes, a picnic. I recall I suggested it, along with dinners at the Ritz, some years ago.”

“ _ You go too fast for me, Crowley. _ ”

There’s a lull in their conversation for a moment.

Aziraphale watches as Crowley swallows- more for the human meaning it implies, than an actual need for it. Even though Aziraphale can’t see his eyes, he can see the hard way his lips are pressing together, chin jutting out, eyebrows furrowing, hand clenching on the table.

Oh, he owes Crowley so much more than a picnic, doesn’t he? It’s only fair, just from the look of him.

“I’d apologize for making you wait for so long,” he begins, hands clasped over his own lap, head turned to him. “But I’m sure I could do better than an apology, my dear. Humans say such a thing, don’t they? Actions speak louder than words.”

“Ngk,” says Crowley.

Aziraphale’s gaze goes soft, soft,  _ soft _ at the way Crowley is gawping at him. Oh, how patient has he been, to be caught off guard by this? It’s like he hadn’t expected Aziraphale to catch up with him at all- which is a fair judgment, given how stubborn he can be, but still.

“Dearest,” he says, reaching out, wrapping a gentle hand over the nearest hand Crowley has on the table. “I’ve got one more favour to ask of you, if that’s alright?”

“A favour,” Crowley croaks out, as though he’d intended for it to be a question but failed to do so out of shock.

“I’d like a little more of your patience,” he says, thumb stroking over the back of Crowley’s hand. Crowley has lowered his head now, staring at their hands together, and Aziraphale can’t help a smile. He goes on, “Because there’s a lot I ought to catch up on with you, I’m sure. You’ve got…well, six millennia over me, isn’t that right?”

“Didn’t think you’d notice that,” Crowley mumbles, still staring at their hands. “Given how you could notice how loved Tadfield was, and not…”

“Hard to notice something that’s always there, isn’t it?”

Crowley frowns in that way he does when he thinks Aziraphale is being unreasonable, but also, “why do I find myself liking you anyway?” He says, “So…you’ve been able to feel it, all this time. And you never said anything?”

Aziraphale gives a tiny shrug of his shoulders, gaze turning to the side for a bit, before turning to their hands. Sotto voce, he says, “I wasn’t ready to confront it, then. I knew you wouldn’t push either, and…I suppose it’s a flaw of mine, to have abused your patience as I have.”

“Even ethereal beings can be imperfect,” Crowley says dryly, teasing. He turns his hand, palm upwards, curling his fingers into the spaces between Aziraphale’s own. “Though, I shouldn’t be surprised about that. We’re of the same stock, even if I am fallen.”

Aziraphale smiles fondly at him. “Thinking about it that way, I’d say you’re kinder than most angels would be.”

Crowley sighs, less motivated as is in defending his status as a demon. Perhaps that’s what happens, when you actively go against your employer by way of impersonation and utter deception. He says, “It’s a major flaw of mine, I know. Doesn’t make me a very good- terrible?- demon.”

“It’s what makes you so easy to love, really.”

It’s a pity that Crowley had finished his wine already; it would have likely been a memorable scene had Crowley gone for a drink and coughed the way he just did at Aziraphale’s words.

“You could warn a demon,” Crowley says, looking entirely like he doesn’t know what to do with his face. Is he happy? Embarrassed? Annoyed? Or perhaps all of the above, going by the way he’s struggling against a smile on his lips. “What would your employers say, angel? Consorting with a demon like myself.” 

“Oh, I think they’ve known for a while,” he hums. “What was it that Uriel called you? My boyfriend?”

Crowley’s expression does another, dare he say it,  _ Ineffable _ Thing. He says, “Your  _ what _ .”

Aziraphale laughs.

“A bit juvenile, if I do say so myself,” he says lightly, rubbing his thumb over Crowley’s own. “But I think, given the stunt we pulled, that they’ll leave us alone for now.”

“No, go back to that boyfriend bit-”

“I think we’re quite done with lunch, don’t you? I’ll call for a server.”

“ _ Angel. _ ”

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for Good Omens! Can I get a wahoo??? lmao
> 
> It's gonna take a bit of a while for me to fully grasp their characters, given that I have yet to finish re-reading the book (even though I know, really, that their characters are different since they decided to go with a different direction for the series....but yes)
> 
> If you like it, if you think there's something I can improve on, just let me know! Feedback is always much appreciated ♥ Thanks for reading!!


End file.
